The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1887-10-01

torrents, and still the rain comes down
with no perceptible indication OF any
let-uD of the steady down-p0ur.
To the solitary occupant of the third
floor back bedroom, the unceas1ng
tinkle of the water as it FLASHES against
the window panes, and trickles IN a
noisy flood down into the tin water
pipes, is fast growing uubearable. Mir.
Frederic Bolton glances impatlently
up from his book.
He is five-and-forty, if day; he has
pale, refined face, pair of large blue
eyes, and a struggling blonde beard,
worn in the English fashion, on either
side of round and receding chin. In
person, he is apparently of medium
height, inclined to slenderness. His
manners are those OF gentleman. But
the low, drawing voice and his air of
condescension seem totally at variance
with the grim poverty of his surround
ings. The carpet upon which he sits
is ragged, and darned in many places.
In one corner stands a make-believe
piano. that deceives nobody as to what
is H., u5tt use is. Indeed, as if to make
assurance doubly sure" the corner of
a sheet protruding from a crevice in
the side of the instrument indicates the
fact plainly enough, that what seems to
be n piano by day is in reality bed at
night The holland shades are pushed
well up to admit the scanty light which
rreeps in over the black roofs, visible
in every direction from the windows
themselves. A small round table, lit
OF 10
up on one side of the open fireplace,
and q low rocker, with woman's shawl
trailing across the back of it, stands
close by the table.
Mir. Bolton again chances impatiently
from his book-he is reading Ouida's
"8 anda and look out on the smoking
chimneys, the black house tops, and
the lowering sky.
"Fouf, he calculates angrily, firt-
ing his fingers at the dismal prospect
without, and mentally cursing that
within.
Nv hat beastly weather If it needs
must rain, then why doesn't it rain and
be done with it. This internal drip
and driz2le all day long, all night long,
for nobody knows how many days and
/
man distracted With this philippe
| against the unruly elements without,
he pushes his chair a tritie nearer the
fire, puts his slippered feet upon the
fender, and, drawing his tattered dress
+ ing-gown more closely about his attenu-
ated figure, gives attention to the novel
in his hand.
The book itself is well-worn copy,
and shows the marks of hard usage as
well as those of the circulating library
from which it evidently comes
Now, to be patron of the circulat-
ing library might argue, to the super
I ticial observer, a not too fastidious
taste on the part of MIR. Bolton.
/ Whereas, facts establish the contrary
to be the case. As a rich mans son,
Mr.. Bolton had inherited money. And
+ as rich mans son he began life with
no other idea of the value of money
than that of its purchas ng power
Neither 10y training or natural incli-
nation had he capacity for either &C
( curing riches or for husbanding the
riches he inherited.
Therefore, pandering solely to taste
for that which IS most pleasant in life
: and shrinking all responsibilities,
I whatever they might behring's Mr..
Bolton at last to the third-hoor back
/ bedroom, where we now find and intro
duce him to notice
/ Moreover, the present condition of his
+ finances is such that he can i'll aft nd to
question too closely the source from
/ which his supply of mental pabulum
proceeds. Desperate as his affairs are.
1t Is not his disposition to brace his
shoulders for struggle with the cur
rent. His philosophy has taught him
a different method, and he drifts
slowly it may be, but surely-down the
river.
He murmurs little at the ups and
downs of life, and deplorabIe as his
/ condition is, gives himself no particu-
+ lar uneaslness over the necessities of
4 tomorrow. Take the world easy" is
his motto, and always will be.
Absorbed in his novel, the time flies
rapidly, and Mr.. Bolton quite forgets
the fact that the temperature of the
room IS growing too low for comfort,
until suddenly reminded of it by the
4 chill that creeps up his spin1l column
+ He pauses in his reading. shivers, and
aching for the poker, gives the fire a
b that sends the sparks flying mp
ward IN a shower. is he filings the
poke down again, light tap is heard
at the door, and a moment later tall
girl enters the room. A rubber coat,
from which the water triekles IN little
TIvulets, envelopes her figure from
head t heel
ack again, Loo, exclaims Mr. Boil
IL establishment. Why, l did not
your return for two good hours
ii rains so saws Loo half auoIo.